this jet-lagged sleeping beauty (Victuri)
by vanillaspork
Summary: "Victor!" exclaims Yuri, unable to wiggle out from underneath the Russian's body splayed on top of his. "Did you set an alarm?" (Yuri! On Ice, episode seven)


"Try walking, little piggy," grunts Victor in Yuri's ear as he drags the skater through the hallway, one arm tight around his waist and another one gripping his bicep. When Victor suggested taking a nap, it was as if those were magic words, and Yuri's body responded accordingly. His muscles had become jelly, his vision swam before him, and now he's less than a heap of drowsy, loopy flesh and bone being yanked along by Victor.

Yuri mumbles something and tries to oblige, attempting to make his legs mirror Victor's, but he just ends up tripping over the Russian's feet. He grunts behind Yuri and slips his arms around Yuri's armpits, hauling him up before he can fall.

"'M sorry," slurs Yuri, his head rolling back against Victor as they stumble towards their hotel room in a hybrid movement resembling a cross between a three-legged race and ballroom dancing. "I did…did sleep, y'know."

"That does nothing to say how long you did," replies Victor, his voice a bit strained with the effort it takes to hold Yuri up and walk at the same time.

Yuri frowns and slings an arm around Victor's back, holding on tightly, and he hears the taller man's breath hitch when he digs his fingers in a little too tightly. His second arm crosses both of their bodies to hold onto Victor's neck, so that now he's just a floppy bag hanging around his coach's neck.

Victor draws Yuri in closer and chuckles through his nose. "Yuri…"

"Mhm?"

"You're in no shape to skate. I'm worried about you."

"It's okay," yawns Yuri, noticing their door just a few feet away. "I'll…be fine."

"Right," sighs Victor, taking one hand off of the younger man to unlock the door. He kicks it open and practically shoves Yuri in, rubbing the bridge of his nose when he staggers once, twice, and then falls.

Yuri rubs his eyes and stares at the floor, crosseyed. He furrows his brows when the carpet appears to be swaying under him. "Victor?" he calls, distantly startled by how drunk his voice sounds. He hadn't even been drinking. "The floor is moving."

A second exasperated but amused sigh answers him. Yuri's still kneeling on the floor when Victor strides over to him and squats. Yuri looks up, trying to focus on his face. Suddenly some of the grogginess is shaken off when he realizes how vibrant Victor's blue eyes are shining, how intensely they're gazing at him. Yuri opens his mouth to say something, but his voice dies in his throat when Victor reaches forward and grabs his face, fingers pushing into his cheek.

Yuri watches, wide-eyed, as Victor's free hand takes his glasses off and gently places them on the table behind them. Then Victor pats Yuri's other cheek and says, "Yuri. You are a mess."

"Yeah," is all Yuri can manage.

Victor shakes his head and pulls Yuri up with him. The latter notices a bit of red spreading throughout the Russian's ears. "Where is your night mask?" Victor asks, somewhat unexpectedly.

Yuri is speechless for a couple of seconds before silently pointing towards the third drawer of the nightstand between their two beds. Victor glances at it, looks back at Yuri with an emotion that looks like mild concern in his eyes, and then leaves him to fetch the mask. Yuri shakily gets to his feet, putting a trembling hand on the table to stabilize himself.

Slightly dizzy, he watches Victor rifle through the drawer for a few moments before letting out a triumphant _hmph!_ and standing up with a gray night mask. It abruptly dawns on Yuri that Victor meant to put it on him, and he steps back as his coach nears him. "W-wait…why do I need this…?"

"Hush, little piggy. I am getting you ready to get some beauty sleep." Victor reaches him and catches him with his elbows, propping them up on Yuri's shoulders and firmly nestling Yuri's head between them so that he can't move. Yuri protests weakly, trying to push Victor away, but in his lightheaded and sleepy state he can't do a thing against the Russian. Victor effortlessly pulls the mask over Yuri's eyes, casting his world in startling darkness.

"Victor…" The name is uttered automatically, a raspy, throaty sound. Yuri feels Victor's arms tighten around his face, and he stiffens. He gets the feeling that Victor does, too. "What are you—"

A finger against his lips stops him, and Yuri instantly lapses into silence when he feels that same finger push against him a little bit harder and then slowly trace down his mouth, pausing to rub his bottom lip before staying on his chin. His hands begin to get clammy, and it takes every last shred of whatever self-control his state of mind has left him with to keep still.

"It's alright," Victor murmurs. Yuri's heart kicks up the pace when the sound of Victor's voice reveals just how close their faces are. "Stop panicking."

"Not panicking," Yuri protests, failing to ignore the fingers cupping his face.

A hum meets his ears, and Victor's fingers leave his chin. They return around his wrist, and Victor begins to pull him through the room. "Slower," yelps Yuri, staggering after him and wildly flailing out with his free hand to make sure he doesn't bump into anything. He hits something cold—a chair, perhaps—and rears away, almost falling into another wall, in his shock. Victor laughs, a beautiful, beautiful sound, and it calms Yuri so much that he almost falls asleep right then and there. Forgetting his initial alarm, Yuri allows Victor to lead him to what he assumes is his bed and sits on the mattress when Victor guides him down.

Yuri sits there, beginning to squirm when nothing happens for a long second. The silence of the room is unnerving, and the only sound is his breathing. He can't even hear Victor.

And then the hands return, confident in their motions, around the hem of Yuri's shirt.

Yuri inhaled sharply and is momentarily torn, not knowing whether he should rip the mask off or go to push Victor away. In that hesitation, Victor seems to sense his intentions, and he quickly grabs Yuri's wrists. "Steady," he mumbles. "You are tired. Let me do just this, okay?"

It takes several seconds for Yuri to form a coherent answer. "Okay," he whispers.

Victor makes a sound of approval and lets go of Yuri, who leans back ever so slightly and closes his eyes—even though he really doesn't have to—when he feels Victor's hands against his body again. They slip underneath his shirt and curve around his sides, drawing a shaky breath from Yuri as the hands raise goosebumps wherever they touch. He has to bite his tongue to avoid making much noise.

Victor continues to caress his torso, and eventually pushes Yuri farther back on the bed. Yuri is taken by surprise thanks to the sudden force and falls back on his elbows, groaning softly as he senses Victor climbing up with him, straddling him at the hips. At this point his restraint is all but gone, and Yuri lets out a squeak when one of Victor's hands slide all the way up his body, causing the shirt to ride up around his collar, and comes to a rest around his neck. Yuri's entire face is on fire, and he can feel Victor's hands rising and lifting with his chest. "Victor," whimpers Yuri, his fingers hopelessly entangled in the fitted bed sheet. Victor's thumb is putting a dangerous amount of pressure on his suprasternal notch, and the new sense of vulnerability gets Yuri dizzier than ever before. "P-please…"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Yuri," murmurs Victor, inches away from Yuri's face.

He runs two fingers up Yuri's pronounced ribs, scraping them up and down. A tiny gasp escapes the younger's lips. Finally Victor takes a fistful of shirt fabric and pulls it up and over Yuri's head.

"Victor, is this necessary?…" breathes Yuri, forced to lie back farther when Victor crawls further up his body.

"What, you do not sleep nude too?"

Yuri's eyes fly open behind his mask. "WHAT?!" His hands fly up to take off the blindfold, incredibly anxious and almost scared now, but Victor intercepts him before he can reach the straps. "I was just kidding," snorts Victor, fighting Yuri for a few seconds before wrestling his hands back down against the mattress. "You look terrified."

"I am," answers Yuri, drawing his knees up protectively—since he's pretty sure what's coming off next. "Why are you doing this?"

The answer that follows is so unexpected and profound that it shocks Yuri into utter silence.

"Because you are beautiful."

Yuri freezes. He has zero idea how to respond to that. His jaw drops against his will, and he slumps against the mattress, powerless to fight when Victor runs his hands back down Yuri's body and hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. "Victor, I…I'm not…"

"Yuri."

It's only one word, his name. But the power that it was spoken with, the conviction, the emotion, the reassurance—it chills Yuri to the bone. And so he swallows and closes his mouth, relaxing. His way of surrendering to his coach, his way of accepting what Victor's saying, what he's doing. It's not exactly sexual, not exactly something to send Yuri off edge, but when Victor pulls Yuri's pants off, Yuri feels…strangely safe. Secure. Which is funny, considering how he's only in a tight pair of gray boxers.

Completely still, Yuri barely turns his head when the bed dips to his left, signifying Victor kneeling beside him. He doesn't move when soft wisps of hair tickle his neck as Victor lowers his head, and nothing but a soft sigh leaves his mouth when the Russian leaves a single kiss against his neck. It's a lingering, tender kiss, and once Victor moves away, Yuri finds himself longing for his lips against his skin once again.

"Beautiful," murmurs Victor, dropping his forehead against Yuri's. "Beautiful."

"…th…thanks?" tries Yuri, afraid to talk for fear of ruining the moment.

Victor laughs and strokes his cheek with two fingers before sitting up again. "Try closing your mouth, Yuri."

"Huh?" Only then does Yuri notice the giant, sheepish smile keeping the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

The springs in the bed squeal as Victor gets off the mattress, still chuckling quietly. A minute later, after some rustling and barely audible mumbles, Yuri feels a cool breeze rush over his nearly naked body before a thick warmth smothers him. A blanket.

"Nap until the event starts this evening," Victor tells him, leaning over him and patting his shoulder. "It will be okay. I slept until the last minute before competitions…too…"

Suddenly Yuri can hear how tired Victor is, and he gasps when his coach's head suddenly falls heavy on his chest, and he can feel the blanket collecting around his body as a result of Victor capturing him in a weird sort of hug.

"Victor!" exclaims Yuri, unable to wiggle out from underneath the Russian's body splayed on top of his. "Did you set an alarm?"

But the even, peaceful breathing tells him that his coach is already fast asleep.

END


End file.
